The beauty of nothing
When everything you need comes from making space, how much of a sacrifice is it?
Hello from the other side.
The other side of what, I’m not quite certain. The wise words of my queen, Adele, acknowledge that something has ended, and something else has begun. She looks back at those who knew her then—a different person, or at least, a different version of herself. She’s sorry but not sorry enough to regret the entire journey that put distance between them.
Yeah. That’s about right.
It’s been eleven-ish weeks since my last issue of Our Tiny Rebellions. I signified last fall that I’d be writing less on this platform as I amped up efforts for our book on love and money; but even then, I’m not sure I grasped the enormity of the work. Unlike our first book, this project isn’t self-contained to my own research and Doug’s financial advice. I am constantly pitching, Zooming, and soliciting experts. We’ve started a weekly newsletter about love and money, which you should totally subscribe to. I’m also on the receiving end of dozens and dozens of real couples’ money stories. Many are what you’d expect, but some of them are…heavy.
I’m a natural at asking hard questions with empathy, but I’m not sure I was ready to hear all the answers. Doug is used to it. He’s supported some clients through the worst moments of their lives. The type of law I practiced was much more detached. Much easier to walk away from every night.
Some of what I’m learning isn’t just about other people—it’s about myself. And I need space to process what I’m taking in. That unfortunately requires cutting things out.
Drawing conclusions about themes and ideas won’t come in the hour between ending a Zoom and picking up my daughters. It won’t come through scrolling recipes on TikTok, shooting the shit in my DMs, or responding to every single group text chain that I’m affixed to. It won’t come from pressuring myself to stay current with this newsletter every week.
The only way it comes is through nothing. Nothingness, and all I can find in it.
This wasn’t the first time I stepped back from writing something. In fact, most of my best essays began in various wine bars around Lower Manhattan a decade ago and haven’t been seen by more than a handful of people. I started and stopped. Workshopped and threw away. Finally, I let years go by without touching them at all. When I came back to them, I had new words and fresh perspective.
It's almost like wisdom can grow with distance. Hindsight can breed clarity.
I used to be worried that if I took a break from doing something, I’d forget how to do it, but I’m learning that’s just not true. I was a classically trained pianist until I went to college. Even though I get the notes wrong way more than before, my hands still know where to go.
In the time I’ve been on this hiatus, I’ve probably drummed up 20 topics to write about here. I can’t wait to share them with you, but I’ve removed the stress to do so. What’s wonderful about this platform is it’s neither work nor my full life. There is a guardrail here. I love letting it down but I’m grateful to keep it up when everything’s telling me I need to. (October 7th broke my heart.)
The same can be said for friendship. Maybe I am not the world’s greatest friend right now, if friendship is measured in the performative way some women demand. I don’t blame them—likes and laughter and constant acknowledgment is what our social currency has been whittled down to. I’m just not able to validate other people’s everythings when I’m trying so hard to validate myself.
That doesn’t mean I’m not lonely. Working hard can be isolating. To that end, I just finished a book by someone I admire, Farnoosh Torabi. In her new release, A Healthy State of Panic, she writes about flipping the script on fear to harness your power and create the life you want. She once asked a man afraid to go out and start his own business, “What’s the worst that can happen?” Meaning specifically, what would be worse for him: the fear of disappointing his parents, or the regret of never trying to do this thing that meant so much to him?
In my case, what is worse: the fear of not pleasing everyone in my orbit, having FOMO, worrying about disappointing even my readers here, or the regret that I didn’t give my all to the purpose for this book, this seismic career pivot, this journey to test the outer limits of my ambition?
If you can answer that question as clearly as I can, you know what to do.
So that’s where I am. Maybe I’m only on the other side of a new year with a new perspective and not On The Other Side of this big mountain of a big book. But the beautiful part of distance is that it’s not black and white. I can still giggle with my girlfriends. I can still go out on the weekends. I can still be here, with you all, when time allows. But I’m no longer afraid of nothingness and all that it reveals in this process. All that it reveals about me.
Hello. It’s me. Feel free to say hello back: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.
The little things
In mid-January, we got away on a little family vacation to Turks and Caicos. It’s our new life hack to travel after everyone’s home from the holidays and the resorts and airports are much less chaotic. We figure we’ve only got a few years before the girls can’t miss school, so we should take advantage while we can. It was a restorative, sentimental, and amazing trip.
Also
I wrote:
LOTS of essays for our love and money newsletter, The Joint Account. Here’s a few you might enjoy, and if you’re interested, please subscribe:
I bought:
The most eye-popping blazer from Generation Love to wear to a photoshoot. While I love fashion, I’m terrible at making the right choices for purposes like this, but I think I got this one right. What do you think: should I buy the skirt, too?
I cooked:
Every single thing in my fridge. I’ve been on this kick to reduce waste, save money, and eat healthier on weekdays. Sometimes, my concoctions are a hit. Other times, they’re what I can only refer to as a Sad Girl Lunch™. In any event, follow along with me on Instagram.
Your wins
Hope clicked the enrollment button the first “nano-second” it was open to finally get her son into swim lessons. She said it “[m]ade her remember [my] newsletter about extracurricular/camp sign ups craziness!” Proud of you, Hope. You got it done.
Do you have a tiny victory to share with Our Tiny Rebellions? LMK: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.